


In My Time of Dying

by yseult



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yseult/pseuds/yseult
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A (very) small one shot, exploring Oliver's pov of the last moment of the duel against Ra's al-Guhl. SPOILERS for 3x09, do not read this if you haven't caught up to the show. Rated T for description of physical violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Time of Dying

**Author's Note:**

> I actually intended to turn this into a longer story, but I just found another writer had done the same... and he's done such a great job at it (and used quite some of my ideas) that I'm just putting the part up that I have. If you want to read some very intelligent plot ideas and pretty strong writing, have a look at 'The Journey' by Nightgrauen.
> 
> Feedback is very much welcome. (This is my first post with AO3 after 10 years at ff.net. Exciting.)

Fire.  
  
Unrelenting, unforgiving, all consuming fire.  
  
Poured into his innermost being, burning right through his vision and his breath.  
  
That’s when he knew.  
 __  
It’s over.  
  
At last.  
  
Soon, cold would replace the burning fire in his veins, as the last flickers of his body revolting itself against this simple logic would die out. It would fill him up, drown him out until nothing was left of himself or his struggle.  
  
He sunk to his knees, paralysed by ancient art and technique of an opponent as powerful as time was unrelenting.  
  
The tales were right. Your life did catch up with you one last time in those last moments before everything went black. Just before everything we are, everything we represent and every potentiality we could have still realised was plunged into nothingness.  
  
The passing thought fell out of focus as his mind recalled in rapid succession each person his heart had held dear. A silent prayer for people left behind, for souls waiting for him to join them. Solace.  
  
Murmurs of a language he had already lost the words to understand, barely reached him as the Demon’s Head joined him in his prayer.  
  
In an instant, the fire died out as he felt the longsword run through him, leaving nothing but an idle thought of love and loss, before pulling him down into the darkness and his once proud body was pushed over the edge of the cliff where he’d faced his enemy.  



End file.
